


Lesson Learned

by Neuropsyche



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Peter is Tony Starks biological son, little kid Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 10:00:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neuropsyche/pseuds/Neuropsyche
Summary: Tony loses his wife, Peter loses his mother (the same person, in this story) but Peter is losing Tony and then Tony almost loses Peter.Not MCU compliant as Peter is 10, and Tony's biological son





	Lesson Learned

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot gift to a friend who requested it

The boy hesitated at the entrance to the living room, leaning against the wall and looking at the man who was sprawled on the couch – with a drink in his hand. 

“Dad…?” 

Tony Stark didn’t respond. Didn’t even look away from the fireplace and the gas-fed flames that were almost hypnotic.

Peter walked closer, brushing his hand against the soft leather as he approached the sofa.

“Dad?” He tried, again.

This time Tony looked over, his eyes blurry. But Peter could see the recognition in his expression, at least, on the second try.

“Hey, Peter… You okay, son?”

Peter nodded, recognizing from the slurred speech and the odd expression that his dad was drunk. _Again_. Peter had mentioned the drinking, before, and his dad had yelled at him, saying that he was a little kid and he needed to worry about little kid problems and let him worry about being the grown-up. The boy didn’t want to make him mad, again.

“Yeah. I was just…” he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“No. what do you need, buddy?”

“I have a project due for class.”

“A science project?”

“Yes. I’m supposed to build a robot.”

Tony smiled.

“That’s convenient. We can build a robot with some spare parts in my lab.”

Peter couldn’t help but feel a little surge of hope.

“You’ll help me?”

“Sure. Now?”

“No.”

Not while he was drunk. Tony Stark was a genius, yes, but that was just asking for trouble to turn him loose on his project when he’d been drinking.

The only problem was that his father was _always_ drunk, lately, it seemed.

“Just let me know,” Tony told him, turning from his son back to look at the fire, once more.

Peter waited, hopefully, thinking that he’d really like it if Tony patted his lap and invited him to spend time with him. They hadn’t spent much time, together, lately, either.

It was pretty lonely, really, and Peter felt a pang of sorrow, wishing – not for the first time – that his mom was still alive. She would have nudged him, and given him a pointed look and a gesture to Peter, reminding Tony Stark that, yes, the world needed Ironman, but so did his son.

She was gone, though, and Peter turned away from his father’s drunken indifference.

“I’m going to go to my room…”

There was no answer. But Peter really hadn’t expected one. He hadn’t received one any night that week, after all.

><><> 

“Peter is very intelligent, Mr. Stark…”

Tony nodded, looking at the boy sitting beside him, settling his hand on the little boy’s head, pleased at the praise. However, there was definitely a qualifier coming, he could tell.

“But…?”

“He’s falling behind in class.”

Tony looked at Peter, who looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.

“How so?”

“Assignments aren’t being done. He works in class, just fine, but anything assigned as homework is coming back incomplete – or not being turned in at all.” The teacher hesitated. “I understand that with the loss of your wife, he’s had a lot to deal with, and we don’t want to press, but – “

“Then don’t,” Stark interrupted. “I’ll make him do his homework. What does he need?”

She shrugged.

“Everything. He failed to turn in a special robotic project that was due last week. Several math worksheets. He was supposed to read two books, and –“

“Just write it down,” Tony said, glaring down at his son, who was looking at his hands, which were in his lap. “He’ll get it done.”

Peter didn’t look up for the remainder of the teacher/parent/student conference, but the boy could feel the disapproval emanating from the man sitting beside him.

><><>< 

“What’s going on, Peter?”

The boy buckled his seatbelt, ignoring the way the other people in the school parking lot were gawking at his father. He was used to it – and so was Tony.

“Nothing.”

“Why aren’t you doing your homework?” Tony pressed. “It can’t be too hard. You’re too smart for that.”

“It’s not easy…”

“From now on, now video games until you’re done with your homework.” He pulled the expensive sports car out of the parking lot. “FRIDAY? No more video games for Peter until he’s done with his homework.”

_“Peter doesn’t play video games,”_ came the reply to the command_. “Activity on the servers is at .02% over the last three months.”_

Tony scowled, annoyed that his AI knew more about what his own son was doing than he did.

“What are you doing with your time, then?” He asked, not looking at Peter because he was concentrating on traffic.

“Nothing…”

“You’re _ten_, Peter… you can’t be ready for that teenaged angst and moodiness, yet.”

“I’m _not_. I just… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just do your homework. Your mother wouldn’t…” his voice trailed off, and Peter heard a soft sniff, but when he dared to look over, Tony was just wiping his sleeve against his nose, before moving his hand to shift the car. “Just… when we get home, I want you to go to your room.”

“You said we were going to go to pizza, tonight.”

“That was before your teacher told me that you’re falling behind. I can’t reward you for not doing your schoolwork.”

“That’s not fair. You promised last week that we’d go have Dairy Queen, and you forgot. And then the time before that, you said we’d go to the-“

“Peter.”

“It’s not fair.” The stubborn set of his jaw was so much like Tony’s that if he had been in a better mood, it would have made him smile – he knew his wife would have pointed it out, amused. “You _promised_. You never keep your promises, anymore.”

“Look, I told you I was sorry about the Dairy Queen thing, alright? I forgot.”

“You were _drunk_.”

“I wasn’t _drunk_. I just –“ he didn’t have an excuse for that one. “And the time before, when we were supposed to go to the fair, that Avengers thing came up.”

“Something always does,” Peter said. “I just-“

“Don’t argue with me, son.”

His tone made it final, and Peter turned his head, watching the traffic go by and feeling the sting of disappointment so profoundly that he couldn’t help the tears that trickled down his cheeks. He’d been looking forward to having time with his dad that night, and now it wasn’t going to happen.

Again.

Tony stole a look at his son and felt his heart break at the tears. More than ever he wished his wife was there to figure out how to get him and Peter back to the place they were before she’d left them.

When they returned home, Peter went to his room, and Tony went to pour himself a drink.

>><<>>< 

“So what are you going to do?”

Tony shrugged, taking another sip of the drink in his hand.

“Get him a tutor, I guess.”

Rhodey frowned.

“Tony… he doesn’t need a _tutor_. You’re _brilliant_, for God’s sake. How hard can his homework be? He’s _ten_.”

“He doesn’t do it.”

“Do you sit him down and help him with it?”

“He doesn’t _ask_ for help.”

He hesitated, though, as a faint memory of maybe talking to Peter about robots, or something, flashed through his mind. Maybe he _had_ asked for help with a project?

“He comes home from school and he goes to his room. I make dinner, he eats and goes back to his room. Or to my workroom and he sits with Dum-E.”

“And you sit around the house with a drink in your hand.”

Stark scowled, looking at the drink.

“I might have a drink or two, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“When’s the last time you spent time with him?”

“You weren’t listening; we just had a parent/teach conference.”

“When’s the last time you did something _fun_ with him, Tony? He’s a little kid. You need to be the adult and make the first move.”

“We were supposed to go have pizza, tonight,” Tony said, taking another drink. “But I can’t take him out after hearing he’s not doing his work.”

“Because bad behavior shouldn’t be rewarded? Are you kidding me? He’s never going to match you in bad behavior. Put your phone down, your drink down and go spend some time with your son.”

Stark started to argue, but Rhodey disconnected the call on his end, and the billionaire looked at it for a minute, before realizing that he wasn’t there, and wasn’t calling back. He drained his drink and got off the couch.

>><><><> 

Peter was sitting on his bed when Tony knocked once and opened the door. The little boy was clutching a pillow, holding it to his stomach and resting his chin on it, and he looked up when his father walked across the room and sat down beside him.

“You okay?”

Peter nodded, but his eyes had the watery look that Tony knew so well, lately. Proof that he’d been crying.

“Yes.”

“I was thinking…” he started. “I might have been too quick to cancel our pizza thing… Still interested?”

Peter’s eyes lit up.

“Really?”

Tony smiled.

“Sure. Let’s go eat some pizza.”

><><><><> 

They didn’t speak as they headed for the garage, but Peter realized, quickly, from the way that he was walking – and the smell of his breath – that his father had had a few drinks since coming home. He hesitated to say anything, well aware that it was already a touchy subject between the two of them, but when he reached for the door of the car, he looked across at his dad.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

Predictably, Tony scowled.

“I’m not drunk, Peter.”

The boy quailed at the tone of voice.

“I was just thinking that, you know, if you’re-“

“Do you want to have pizza with me, or not?” Tony interrupted. “Because _I’m_ going to get pizza. If you’d rather go find a high horse to jump on, be my guest. Otherwise, get in the car, son. Now.”

The high horse thing was lost on Peter, but there was no mistaking the tone of voice, and chastised, he got into the front seat and buckled himself in, watching as his dad did the same, and started the car.

Annoyed, distracted and maybe feeling good – but not drunk – Tony pulled the car out of the garage with the tires squealing their protest the entire way, and Peter gasping and grabbing for the ‘oh shit handle’ on the top of the door. He was small enough that the action wasn’t missed on Tony, and he felt another surge of annoyance – and a tiny sliver of guilt trying to battle its way into his mind for scaring his son.

He turned to Peter, to reassure, and lost control of the car. There was another squeal of tires as the car’s safety mechanism took control and slammed on the brakes before Tony’s much slower reflexes could, but the tree was much too close for the auto steering to take over in time to avoid it.

The impact was terrific, and the sportscar went from 90 to nothing in an instant. The airbags deployed with several louds pops and there was a crashing wall of white – and then nothing.

>><><><><> 

Tony came to as they were putting him in the ambulance. There was a sharp pain in his left arm and wrist, and his head was killing him. The bump as they lifted the gurney into the well-lit vehicle was enough of a shock to make him open his eyes.

He looked up, seeing a woman in an EMT uniform looking down at him.

“Hold still, Mr. Stark. We’re still evaluating you.”

He frowned, trying to work out why his brain was screaming that nothing was right about what she was saying – and to figure out what else was wrong.

“What happened?” He asked, her, trying to lift his hand to look at it; trying to understand why it was so sore.

She didn’t look concerned that he was having trouble focusing – of curse, she was used to dealing with people in his situation.

“You were in a car accident. Your car hit a tree. Your son is-“

“Oh my God, _Peter_!” Tony tried to sit up and found that he was held down by the straps. He struggled, trying to free himself. “Where’s Peter? How is he?”

“Relax, Mr. Stark,” the woman told him, nodding over at a man, who was already preparing a needle. “We’re still trying to extricate him from the car.”

“What? What do you mean, trying? Is he alright? Is…” he trailed off as an odd lassitude overtook him, and a moment later, he was out, again.

><><><><>< 

When he woke, next, he was in a room. A _hospital_ room, his mind told him, immediately, as soon as he had a chance to look around. He was in a bed, and Rhodey was sitting beside it, looking worried and tired.

“Hey…”

It wasn’t much of a greeting, but it did the trick and let his friend know he was awake.

“Hey, yourself. How do you feel?”

“Sore.” Again, his mind told him there were more important things to worry about – and this time he didn’t need a nudge, despite the odd lassitude that had him held down as completely as the straps on the gurney had. “Where’s Peter?”

“He’s in the ICU.”

“What?”

Rhodey held a hand up, trying to keep his friend from panicking.

“He took a hard shot from the airbags, but they probably saved his life.” He didn’t lecture Tony about having Peter in the front seat so close to the airbags in the first place; Peter was right at the cut off of whether it was safe or not, and the boy loved the car. “He’s unconscious, right now, but they don’t think that he’s taken any lasting harm. It’s –“

“Any lasting harm…?” Tony looked at his friend, incredulously, and then forced himself into an upright position. “Where is he? I need to see him…”

Rhodey put a hand against Tony’s chest, which was covered by the hospital gown they’d put him in when they’d finished running their tests on him.

“Steve’s with him, okay? He’s not by himself. If anything changes, they’re going to let us know.”

“I need to see him,” Tony repeated. “This is all my fault. He didn’t… he didn’t want me to drive, and I was a bastard to him about it.”

“You were drunk, they say…”

“I had a few drinks.”

“And then took your son for a crazy ride down that winding road you call a driveway…?”

“I don’t need a lecture, Rhodey,” Tony told him, angrily. “I just…” he trailed off. “Please… just go check on Peter for me. Make sure he’s alright.”

The other man stood up, but before he could turn to leave the room and do as he was told, the door opened and Pepper walked in with a doctor beside her. Both of them looked serious when they saw Tony was awake and sitting up, and Rhodey hesitated, waiting to see what they were going to have to say.

“Mr. Stark,” the doctor said with very little preamble and no sign of the hero worship Tony saw with most of the people that he met. “I’m Dr. Francis Levi. I’m the one treating your son.”

“How is he?”

“The accident was serious, Mr. Stark. He sustained several serious injuries, and-“

“How is he?”

“Concussion, broken jaw, broken right wrist and thumb. His liver is bruised, as is his right kidney. Tests on brain function are coming back in the clear, but we won’t know until he wakes up.”

“Can I see him?”

The doctor nodded.

“Your own injuries weren’t as severe; broken wrist, some bruises and a bump on the head. We’ll release you, let you get dressed, and then someone will show you to your son’s bedside.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Pepper said to the man, who nodded and left. Then she rounded on Tony. “Are you _out of your mind_?”

He scowled, holding up his hand – which he now realized had a cast on it. A plain white cast; thankfully no one had thought it amusing to put him in red and gold.

“Have you seen him?”

The fury faded from her expression, and her eyes softened.

“Yes. He’s a giant bruise from head to toe and they’ve wired his jaw shut. He looks terrible – and it’s all your fault. Drinking and driving with your son? After losing your wife – _his mother_ – to a drunken driver? What were you _thinking_?”

The reminder of what he’d already lost, and the litany of Peter’s injuries made the anger Tony might have felt at being lectured drain out of him, replaced by only sorrow and concern.

“I wasn’t.”

“They can’t charge you for anything, because you were on private property – unless, of course, the worst were to happen. Which it isn’t,” she added. “But you’re not going to get out of this without repercussions.”

“And I’ll deal with them,” he said, simply. “I need to see Peter, right now, though. Please.”

She hesitated, and then nodded.

“I’ll leave so you can get dressed.”

She did just that, and when the door closed, Tony looked at Rhodey.

“Where are my clothes?”

><><><>< 

Steve Rogers looked up when the door opened, and then stood when he saw who was entering. Tony nodded to him, briefly, but his worried gaze went to the boy in the bed, and he stumbled over to the side, ignoring the chair Steve had been in, in favor of hovering close to the bed side, not even noticing when the others left him alone, closing the door behind them.

Peter’s little body was naked, save for a pair of briefs. There were blankets bunched up on the side of the bed, but none covering him, just then. Like Pepper had said, he was one giant bruise, really, and his face was swollen – especially his jawline, which was slightly distended.

Tubes and wires and machinery of all sorts were monitoring the boy’s vitals, and there was a bright red and gold cast on his right forearm, from elbow to fingers. Fitting colors for Ironman’s son, Tony knew, even though he had no right to claim that sweet little boy, just then.

The realization of what he’d done – what he’d almost done – came crashing down on him, and Tony sat down, hard, almost missing the chair.

“Peter?” he whispered, reaching for the hand closest to him. The one without the cast. His eyes filled with tears. “Peter? Honey? It’s daddy. Can you hear me?”

There was no answer, and Tony choked down a sob, catching that little hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips, holding it against his cheek.

“Peter… please… please, honey… please…”

He was openly crying, now, his tears smearing his cheeks and Peter’s hand.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered.

He couldn’t lose Peter, too.

><><><><> 

It was three days before Peter opened his eyes, and when he did, Tony was the first person that he saw.

The others stayed by his bedside, as well, because they wanted to be there, too – Peter was a favorite of theirs, and they were all worried – but Tony never left for more than a few minutes, and always hurried right back those few times that he needed to go. He ate only when someone forced him to, and he napped very rarely in the chair beside the bed, but he was always in contact with some part of Peter – usually the convenient hand.

The boy looked around, but his eyes found his father’s and stayed there. Tony saw they were filled with fear, more than anything, and pain, and confusion. He was quick to reassure, hitting the call button for the nurse before once more holding Peter’s hand close to his cheek.

“Don’t try to talk, honey,” he whispered, somewhat hoarsely. “You need to stay as still as you can, okay?”

Peter nodded, just a little, and Tony felt a surge of relief go through him at the acknowledgement. The doctors were telling him that they didn’t think there was any brain damage, but they kept saying they wouldn’t know until the boy woke. Tony was just relieved that he had responded to his words. That had to be a good sign.

“Good…” his eyes filled with tears – again, and the door opened, admitting a nurse, who saw the boy was awake and left, immediately, to get a doctor. Tony didn’t even notice. His attention was all where it should have been in the first place. On his son. “I love you, Peter.”

“Love you…” came the whisper that made Tony break down and cry, clinging tightly to the boy’s hand.

><><><<>>> 

“Do you have him? Don’t drop him.”

“I’m not going to drop him, Tony,” Steve assured the worried father, who would have carried his own son, if not for the cast on his arm and the copious amounts of balloons, stuffed animals, flowers and cards that he was holding. “Where are we putting him?”

“On the couch.”

He would be just as comfortable there – and Tony could keep a closer eye on what he was doing.

Steve eased Peter’s slight body onto the couch, making sure the cushions were all just right, and the boy gave him a smile and a whispered “thank you”. He whispered everything, because it was hard to talk with his jaw wired as it was – and as it would be for several more weeks.

For the most part, the bruises were faded, as well, and the cast would be on his arm and hand at least four more weeks, but he’d finally been declared well enough to go home, and Tony and the others were anxious to get him there.

The house was set up for treating Peter through the rest of his convalescence. A nurse was going to come each day to make sure everything looked right, although he wasn’t hooked up to any more IVs or feeding tubes or catheters, now. True, he wasn’t up to eating solid foods, and wouldn’t be able to for weeks, but he could drink smoothies made of all kinds of fruits, and proteins, and FRIDAY had provided Tony and the others countless recipes to keep things from getting boring for the boy.

“You okay there, Peter?” Steve asked, pulling a blanket over the boy.

Peter nodded, his eyes lively, again. The first few days after he’d finally woken had been rough, but he was resilient, and his father was constantly by his side. It was all he had ever really needed, after all. It was a bonus that the other Avengers were constantly dropping by to say hello and bring him presents and tell him stories about their day to keep him distracted from the nonstop ache he was feeling in his face and hand.

“You got him, Tony?”

Stark walked over, holding a bottle of juice with a straw in it, which he put on a special table that was designed to snug right up to where Peter was now resting.

“Yeah, Steve. We’re good. You guys will come by, tomorrow?”

“Of course. We can’t miss the _Welcome Home Peter_ party, can we?”

Peter smiled, again, excited at the thought. He looked at his father, who brushed a hand along his curls as he talked to Captain America about how best to make a cake flavored smoothie seem more like actual cake – and Rogers said they’d figure something out. He left, and Tony looked down at his son.

“Can I sit with you?”

Peter nodded, and Tony sat by the boy’s feet on the sofa, but then hesitated, and patted his lap, hopefully. The boy smiled and nodded, enthusiastically, holding his arms out, so Tony could gather him up and pull him into his lap, cradling him against his chest as he tucked the blanket around him

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, gently.

“Yes,” was the whispered response.

The hand with the cast came around him, holding him loosely, and the boy’s head rested against him, carefully, in deference to the wires in his jaw.

“I’m sorry, honey…” Tony whispered. “I was missing your mom so much that I couldn’t deal with it the right way, and you got hurt because of it…”

Peter nodded; his grip tightening on his father.

This wasn’t the first time his dad had apologized, but it was the first time that he’d mentioned his mother.

“I’m never going to drink again,” he whispered into Peter’s hair.

The bottles were already tossed, and replaced by a stock of other, non alcoholic, options that Peter could enjoy with his father on the days that Tony needed to brood in front of the fireplace. Only now he knew not to wall himself away from Peter. It had been a horrible way to be reminded just how very much the boy meant to him, but Tony was one of those guys that learned his lesson well – once he’d learned it, at all.

“I love you,” Peter whispered.

Tony sniffed, surreptitiously wiping his nose and eyes with the sleeve covering the cast on his forearm. Then he squeezed Peter as tightly as he dared, pressing another kiss against his cheek.

“I love you, too, Peter Stark,” he replied. “You’re my world.”

The boy smiled at that, feeling a happiness that he hadn’t felt in many months, now, suffuse his very being. Safe in his father’s arms, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.


End file.
